I found a stocking under the bedside table
one of those knee-high ones that aren't real stockings
and cast no glamour
shed shrivelled
like a tiny proboscis
in that corner
where it crumpled
among some bits of glass from something broken
with the dust of her skin in the gauze
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
thats a bit weid but good all the same i just added a new poem have a good summer